With Somebody Who Loves Me
by chelash
Summary: 2nd chapter dedicated to momsboys, cause they asked for it. Summary: 40 years later....
1. Chapter 1

WITH SOMEBODY WHO LOVES ME

Gregory House's cane tapped on the polished wooden floor boards, all his weight being pushed onto the cane. On his other arm, clung a elderly Allison. Even though her aged face seemed completely alert, Greg knew that it wasn't the case.

"See, Richard. That's where the cat sleeps." Allison announced, patting her husband on the arm before pointing to the empty space in between the lounge and the dining room table.

"Yes, Allison." Greg answered, in that tone that he's spoken to her for with for a long time – calm, interested, loving and kind.

A few years ago, Allison had started to forget. Though it was the tiniest of things, it always frustrated her. Whether it was where she put the car keys, or what paragraph in her book she was reading. Greg had reassured her, telling her that it was just part of aging, and not to worry about it. He'd begun to have the same symptoms too. After all, Allison was in her 70's.

Allison was a chatty woman; she would talk to anyone who listened, anyone who had the patience, anyone who would pat her arm and say, "Don't worry about it, love." When she couldn't remember what she was going to say next.

However, a few months later, whilst Greg's mental capacity maintained pretty much the same, Allison's dropped dramatically. Her memory loss progressing, until Greg had to accept, that Allison wasn't Allison anymore, and she couldn't come back.

She had Alzheimer's disease.

Even after she had been diagnosed, she was still chatty, but her personality completely changed. She became paler than she ever used to be, she became tired and frustrated easily.

Greg would often find her talking to herself, thinking that she was talking to her late sister, Annabel. "Annie, have you finished with that album yet?" Referring to Whitney Houston's album '_Whitney_'.

It was one of her favourites, especially 'I Wanna Dance with Somebody (With Somebody Who Loves Me)'. Greg could remember the times when he would catch Allison singing it out loud down in the labs at PPTH a little over forty years ago.

Greg smiled at the memory; reminiscing Allison's flushed cheeks as Greg would stare at her, in his usual gruff façade, but he found it humorous, the way that she would turn beetroot red when ever she was caught out.

Greg also remembered the day that Annabel died from natural causes in her sleep. He couldn't stop crying as he told Allison of her sister's passing. What hurt even more was when he finished; she looked at him with confused eyes and said, "Who are you?"

At night, Greg would play that exact CD on his ancient CD player, which probably worth quite a few hundred. Laptops had replaced the CD players. "Stupid iTunes." Greg had muttered.

Greg would sit Allison in her chair, and then sit next to her in his chair, and they would listen to Whitney Houston's voice, every night without fail. Greg would pat her hand to the rhythm, and Allison would stare of into space.

"Greg, does Leisel have her basketball uniform washed?" she suddenly blurted out.

Greg always answered her incoherent questions, but then Allison would stare at her husband with a confused look.

"It's okay, Ally." He would calm her.

One night, Greg looked at Allison's sleeping form in the bed. He sat on the bed, stoking her hair softly, so not to wake her up.

"You know, Ally. Even though you probably don't know who I am, I love you more than ever. Just…if you remember anything, please remember that I love you. I'll always be here for you. No matter what."

Leisel was a god sent, she and her husband, Matthew would take her out to their place once a week, not to get her off Greg's hands, but to give him a break. He would go shopping and just relax. He never saw Allison as a chore, nor did he see it as a burden. He loved Allison, and he would take care of her until he or she were to go.

Leisel never saw it as a burden either, the grandkids loved seeing their nana, and Allison always seemed to enjoy being in the presents of them, as if it were a comfort. She's always loved kids.

When Allison's Alzheimer's took a turn for the worst at one point, she was getting frail, her body was under attack, physically and mentally, and her body was just giving up.

Leisel tried to get Greg to put her into a home, for her's and his sake. He refused. "It's like the Boston Red Sox forfeiting with a lead of 20 runs."

Leisel had rolled her eyes and grumbled, "I hate sports metaphors."

Every night, Greg would bath, feed and dress Allison, then move her to the chair to listen to Whitney Houston.

On this particular night, Greg did everything as per usual. He bathed, fed and dressed her, then moved her to the chair. He patted her hand along to the rhythm.

"Her voice is beautiful." Allison remarked.

"It is, Ally. It definitely is."

After the entire CD had been played, Allison did something that she'd never done before. She stared into Greg's pale blue eyes, and asked. "Again, please?" she whispered.

Greg kissed her forehead. "Anything for you."

As Allison listened again, Greg slowly drifted off to sleep. Allison looked over at her husband and sighed. Even though she didn't know it, she was nearly ready, her brain willed to do one thing left.

Greg awoke, he glanced at the clock. 1:15am.

He then glanced at Allison's sleeping form beside him. He instantly knew. You didn't need a medical degree for this conclusion.

"Goodbye, Ally." He murmured, kissing her cold cheek.

He got up, and stretched his leg. He could help but think of the hand on his hair, the soft voice that had appeared in his dream. "I love you, Gregory House." Stuck in his mind.

He limped over to the phone and dialled a number he knew off by heart. "Leis."

"Yeah, Dad?" Leisel's sleepy voice replied.

"She's gone." A single tear formed and trickled down his face. "She's gone."


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: This is for momsboys, who asked for this. If you have not read the 1st chapter, I strongly suggest it.

_Alone: (adjective) solitary; by oneself_

It was a perfect day for a funeral.

A typical overcast autumn day in New York, the leaves were elegantly floating on their descent to the ground below, the cold air was whispering in the ears of those that stood around the patch of recently disturbed dirt.

Allison hadn't been religious; therefore there had been no church, no prayer, no hymn, not even a priest. Only a select few stood before Allison's soon-to-be grave, and of those few, several were holding onto what they could of the memories of her that threatened to leave them at their elderly age, including Gregory House.

_-"I'm Dr. Allison Cameron, pleased to meet you…ah?"  
_"_House. Gregory House. World renowned doctor, diagnostician, and dickhead."_

_-"Did you loose a baby?"  
_"_Bastard."_

_-"I'm not some damaged puppy that follows you around all the time."__-"Allison Cameron, will you marry me?"  
_"_Yes. I would love to."_

_-"Her voice is beautiful."  
_"_It is, Ally. It definitely is. _

And that feeling of a soft, peaceful hand and those words, "_I love you, Gregory House."_ that would stay in his mind until the day he died.

Greg couldn't bring himself to read a eulogy. Let's face it, he'd never been that type of person anyway, but for his Ally, he wrote one. But as Greg brought out that worthless piece of paper and looked before him at Allison's coffin as it was lowered into the dirt, he knew that no amount of words could ever do Allison the justice that she deserved. So instead, he mused in silence, as Allison was laid to rest beside another tombstone, one Annabel Cameron.

After the funeral, Greg went home, ignoring Leisel's plea to come and stay with her, Matthew and the kids in their New York apartment during the grieving stage. He said no, he couldn't intrude on her. And anyway, there was nothing he could do about it. Allison was dead. He choked back a sob as he said the word 'dead', but didn't let the tears fall. He felt like he was under attack by a thousand knives piercing his heart. He put his head down and left, leaving a stunned Leisel in his wake.  
He didn't care. He just wanted to get out of there, out of New York as fast as he could.

Greg walked through the front door, and threw his coat down on the ground next to the coat rack. He then glanced up at the house before him and was welcomed by cold darkness.

He lit a fire and sat down in front of the heat on the couch. Reaching into a pocket, he pulled out the crumpled up piece of paper.

He closed his fist around it, as emotions, that he couldn't even express, flooded through his body. He flung the ball of paper into the fire, and watched silently as the whole page was incinerated.

He let the sobs convulse through his body, and his hands found his face in an attempt to shield himself from the rest of the world.

The crackling of the wood in the fire made itself the main sound. Nothing else. No talking, no fighting, no noises that indicated Allison's presence.

No Allison.

It had finally hit home.

He was alone.

_Alone: (adjective) solitary; by oneself; Gregory House_

FIN.


End file.
